


Chance Encounters

by maytheshipbewithyou221b



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Chance Meetings, F/M, Post Season 6, Stark reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:32:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9233303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maytheshipbewithyou221b/pseuds/maytheshipbewithyou221b
Summary: Jon runs into Arya in the most unexpected place. (aka: Stark family reunion!).





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is definitely NOT how this will be happening in any media, but wouldn't it be great if it did?
> 
> This is my first fic in this fandom, so any feedback would be great.

They needed the Red Woman. It had been decided unanimously by those lords who remained in the North, even those who were made squeamish by the thought of the Lord of Light's sorcery. And Jon agreed because, after the deaths of Davos and Tormund, he was desperate.

 

He knew a personal entreaty would be necessary to get her to come back. Or at least that's what he said. Sansa was better a ruling than he was anyway. While he'd been successful so far in ruling the North, in his limited experience with leadership this was normally the point when those he needed to protect started to hate him and stab him in the back. Taking a deep breath he reminded himself the Lords of the North were far too duty bound to ever turn on him in that way. Then again, he had once thought the same of his Brothers too.

 

His horse jostled and he refocused on the forest in front of him. They'd heard the Red Woman was roaming the forest in the Riverlands so here they were chasing the ghosts of rumors. He heard a commotion up ahead. Meera, the only escort he'd allowed on this trip, looked at him, a query in her eyes. He nodded in answer. If someone was in trouble they might as well help. He ached for the action anyway.

 

Pushing their mounts to a gallop, they rounded the corner to a befuddling sight. 

 

The Red Woman was conscious but limp, clearly having just been knocked off her cart, with a short beanpole of a girl stalking around her, a small knife in hand, planning to take her time. Her hair was dirty, her face plain, only distinguished from any other common girl’s by the fury lighting her eyes. She’d chosen a disguise that was forgettable and only at the end of her job would she reveal to the woman who stole Gendry exactly who her killer was.

 

She’d chosen her path carefully. No one ever came down this path, one had to cross over a tree root that rose nearly to her shoulder and maneuver around a stack of boulders to reach it. Because of that and a small noise trap she’d set up, she would be alerted if anyone approached.

 

However, she had been so focused on her murderous task that she’d missed the sound of the noise trap. It’s only the hard clop of hoof steps on the stone walk that called her attention away from her task.

 

Quickly assessing the situation she drew her sword with her other hand.

 

Recognizing the sword, Jon's vision went red.

 

Leaping from his horse, he attacked viciously, no longer thinking of the Red Woman. The girl's defense was more hesitant than her expert grip would speak of limited by the shock of seeing a face she’d half-forgotten. Yet after a moment she returned his blows, though without the lethal intensity that she normally employed.

 

Meera ran to the Red Woman, making sure she was alright while the Jon and the stranger continued to exchange blow for blow. For the moment they seemed evenly matched, but Jon knew that if they continued to fight his stamina would win out.

 

But he couldn’t wait until then for answers.

 

"Where'd you get that sword?" The question rang out, traveling far down the road in either direction, his voice having risen to a volume that he'd only used as the Lord Commander. Even now, he couldn’t help but note how her eyes had lost their fury early on in their fight and now seemed to be filled with something like longing, despite the way their steel weapons continued to block and parry. Her counters were weakening. He was going to win.

 

“Where did you get that sword?” His voice, now softer in volume, held an intensity that would’ve frightened the most experienced warrior to his core. Still, she didn't answer his question. Instead, she dropped to the ground and spun her legs in a manner that was foreign to him, knocking him to ground. Getting back to her feet with inhuman speed, she landed another hit on his arm. It went numb and a moment later she was kicking his sword away, keeping the thin sword he'd asked Mikken to make all those years ago pointed at his neck. He was going to die.

 

Yet, despite his impending death, he needed to know so asked again, voice cracking in desperation, "Where'd you get that sword?"

 

Seeing his danger, Meera rushed in from behind the girl, but his soon-to-be-killer kicked backward, high and hard, landing a blow right under Meera’s jaw, knocking her backward into a tree. She collapsed against the trunk.

 

Jon would have looked over in concern, but some force focused his gaze on the sword, memories pressing in, reflected off the metal of the blade: his sister's laugh, the determination in her eyes, her willful expression at the very thought of embroidery, her skill at archery, her figure riding away on a horse. They filled his mind, clouding his senses. In the end, they only enabled him to carry out one action: squeezing out of a tight throat and through suddenly dry lips a single word: "Where?" 

 

Like a story of old, that single word seemed to break the spell that the blade had held over him. Looking away from the gift that was now being used against him, he met her gaze.

 

Her bluish green eyes were brimming with some emotion he couldn't name, face seemingly smooth until he studied it more closely, finding a slight quiver in her lower lip. She blinked and her face changed. Eyes became brown, hair brunette, face long. Loss and struggle beyond her years were permanently etched into her features in a way Jon recognized from whenever he saw his reflection. Still, she had clearly yet to reach her twentieth year. She almost resembled . . .realization dawned on him before she even spoke. Even so, her answer hit him harder than any blow.

 

"I got it," she began, barely holding back the same emotion that filled in her eyes, "from some idiot who told me to stick people with the pointy end."

 

He managed a grin, "You seem to have learned more than that since I left."

 

"I did." She grinned back at him, both of their expressions brimming with more feelings than either dared identify. Neither had thought they’d see each other ever again. Yet somehow, here they were, facing a memory, a ghost, somehow all that had been lost given flesh and returned to them if only for now. 

 

They stayed in that position, her sword still aimed at his throat as he lay on the ground, for what felt like an eternity, just taking each other in. Then, hesitantly, he started to get up. She backed away slowly, suddenly shy, afraid of him finding out what she’d become, but Jon caught up with her quickly. She stopped, backed against a tree. Both of their faces had slipped into suspicion. This was too much like a dream. How could this be real?

 

Slowly, carefully, Jon reached out, moving his hand toward his face, almost pulling it away before making contact with and cupping her face. She momentarily winced, flinching away from his touch, before leaning into his hand, eyes still focused on him, grip still firm on the sword at her side.

 

"Arya," Jon whispered, throat tight. He was grinning again and she couldn't help but grin in return. "Arya," he said again, still unbelieving. She wrapped her arms around him then sword pointing toward the ground, remembering vaguely how nice it had been to give someone a hug. Jon returned the embrace, laughing before exclaiming one more time, "Arya!"

 

This time she answered, "Jon."

  
And for one moment, neither cared about the wrongs that had been onto them or the dangers that were to come. They had each other, the one sibling who’d always truly understood them despite the odds. No matter what they faced now, it would all be alright.


End file.
